July 1, 2020-Coming Home

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Hanging out at Punta de Mita

For eight days Wings lay at anchor in the lee of Punta de Mita, protected from the prevailing westerly winds and also from the shifts to WSW, which happened regularly, but not from true SW winds. Those blew right into the anchorage but they were rare. And anyhow, this was the best anchorage in the area for all of these winds. The best in a wide area. So they stayed.

The winds were one thing, the waves were another. The waves turned around the corner and into the bay where they lay. Tucked up against the point, for the shelter it afforded of course, Wings yet sat perilously close to the surf but the crew watched the waves in the evenings as they sat in the cockpit and savored their happy hour drinks and they didn’t even think of any possible danger from those waves.

But on the ninth day, in the late afternoon, the surf came up.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Waves Building at Pta Mita

On that afternoon they watched as the surf piled up angrily outside their bay. It was stormy, coming from somewhere far away, and jumbled as it grew white and turbulent and sent bigger swells into the bay.

They watched as the big waves came in and turned the corner. First the waves seemed to head directly toward them, then they swerved further, back toward the Punta Mita shore.
The mate was worried, “Those breakers look pretty close”.

The skipper said, “See that rock? The waves are breaking inside that rock. If they start breaking outside of that rock, towards us, then we should pay attention. Until then, we’re OK.”

They both watched the rock and the waves. The waves all broke inside of that rock. They relaxed.

By nightfall the waves were down and they went to their berths and rested easily.

For the next two days the surf stayed up and the waves came around the corner and spent themselves on the shore inside the rock. Some surfers found these waves and came out. See, it is just a playground.

There was no danger to the sailboat.

By day twelve it was time to leave. They were due back.

They raised the anchor and motored slowly into the wind to put up the mainsail. Suddenly they were at the rock. THAT ROCK. It was 12 feet deep, too shallow. The waves were breaking very close, truly close. The main was quickly topped and they turned away putting the wind and that rock to their backs and watched the depth sounder inch higher; 12, 14, 16, 20. A sigh of relief came from both.

Now a different challenge presented.

There was a boat. A boat also going back towards the city.

A boat with a spinnaker. A blue and white spinnaker: A challenge.

They set their own spinnaker, red white and blue.

The other boat had a mile head start, but they felt confident.

Only, they didn’t gain.

The other boat, with the blue and white spinnaker, kept working away to leeward. They thought, "We’re not gaining, we’re losing!"

Perhaps working the shore down there was advantageous. It was, after all, their preferred tactic on the race from here each winter. Today they had let that blue and white spinnaker own that lane. Foolish, over confident.

OK, “We must jibe.”

The jibe was rough, but in the end they pulled it off.

Now, converging on opposite jibes, they closed quickly with the boat with the blue and white spinnaker, but they could see that it was still going to be ahead.

The crossing was not even close.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Blue and White Spinnaker Crosses Us


Yet it wasn’t a mile, so they had gained.

Then the wind built. They were on the correct jibe. The other boat was on the wrong jibe for the new wind and then had some trouble and the spinnaker. It collapsed and stayed collapsed.
Now, with an advantage, they charged.

The other boat fell behind, then bore off again on the wrong jibe. Maybe they were going somewhere else.

Race over.

Only now they were quickly approaching the Port of La Cruz. They were on a beam reach and sailing fast and the anchorage zone was just ahead. The spinnaker had to come down. NOW.
The mate went forward and the skipper turned the boat down wind and released the halyard.

Only it was the wrong halyard.

The mate cried, “Let it down, Let me have it!”

Chaos for a moment then the correct halyard was released. The sail was dowsed.

They looked behind, at the boat with the blue and white spinnaker still wallowing back there, and they looked back towards Punta de Mita and its surf, long ago left behind and out of sight, and they felt good, they had vanquished two foes.

And with that, they closed off a successful cruise.

Click here for a few more photos.

Fred & Judy, SV Wings, La Cruz Huancaxtle

Cruise Statistics:
Start Date: March 31, 2020
End Date: July 1, 2020
Anchorages: 8
Total Miles Sailed: 353nm
Farthest Distance reached from La Cruz: 61.5
miles

April 26, 2020-Wild Cleofas

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Raising Cleofas

At sun-up we raised the island, tall and silent, and shrouded in clouds. “That could be Tahiti.” But, of course, it wasn’t. The old sailor and his wife were sailing northward in the Sea of Cortez not westward across the Pacific.

Each year as the “puddle jumpers” set off across the Pacific bound for Tahiti and the South Seas I always felt wistful seeing them depart; but I am always torn, not wanting to be left out yet not wanting to cross the ocean again.

This year that migration to Tahiti didn’t happen. The plague, that virus, struck. The South Sea Islands closed their doors; not allowing boats to come. Maybe some early departees got away before the closure, but most puddle jumpers were stymied, couldn’t go.

So the puddle jumpers, many of them, headed north into the Sea Cortez to various marinas where they could have their boats hauled and cheaply stored while they headed home to wait out the virus and wait for another season. However, the marinas and storage yards filled up and they also became closed. The cruisers piled up in the anchorages around La Paz and Loreto.

Some wandered aimlessly.

Judy and I weren’t puddle jumpers but as we usually cruise somewhere each spring, this year we’d planned a trip north ourselves. But instead we idled for weeks close to our home marina where we would be allowed to return if we so desired. The talk of port closures and crowded anchorages up north worried us.

However, a magic island beckoned, one that wasn’t too far north and wouldn’t be crowded.

The island was Cleofas, in the Marias group, which for years had been a federal prison and forbidden to all visitors. Recently the prison closed and the Marias had become a national park. Not officially open but nevertheless some cruisers had anchored there last year. The authorities had been lax and might be again we reasoned, or they might not.

The old sailor and his wife were quiet about their plans, slipped out in the middle of the night and set sail for Cleofas to time their arrival for mid-morning when the sun was high and the uncharted hazards would be the most visible, because Cleofas was basically uncharted.

And in the morning they sighted Cleofas and they soon discovered however that Cleofas was wild. Pacific swells rolled towards it and turned into crashing waves which pounded the island. The bay on the south side which offered shelter from a north wind was open to the south and there was a southwest swell which came in unimpeded.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Cleofas South

As we cautiously entered the bay on the south of Cleofas, feeling our way, looking for a calm spot, I watched the maelstrom on either side wondering how long we’d be there if we were wrecked by one of those waves. How long would it take for someone to find us? We had come there un-announced and no one knew we had come to Cleofas.

I kept these thoughts to myself.

At first we went deep into the bay to anchor for protection from any winds which might arise, but the beach was a lee shore and the swells were breaking just behind our stern. The holding was not good either. It was rocky and the anchor rumbled ominously.

The old sailor was uneasy, and his mate more so.

I said, “Well, what do you want to do? Stay or go, and if we go, where? Or should we just shift anchor a little and move away from the beach?”

“You decide.”

So they shifted, twice; closer to the waves outside but farther from the beach. Finally it looked OK. Then a south wind came up, 12 knots, then 15. In their position they were exposed to this wind. That was a new worry: what if the wind continued to rise and the whole bay became a lee shore?

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Contours

Cleofas was beautiful alright, but its wild beauty was not comforting.

But things got better. The wind eased off. The bay got calmer; the swells didn’t look so threatening. We could relax and enjoy the remote beauty. We made cocktails.

For two days it was OK.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Huge Swells Comings

On the third day the swell was up, way up. Huge mountainous rollers came into the reefs just outside of the anchorage, and crashed in a fury against the rocks on either side of the bay. The bay itself became turbulent and the long swells lifted the boat as they rolled towards the beach and they spent their rage pounding the island. The bay was a virtual washing machine.

When this happened it was too late in the day to leave unless we wanted to spend a night at sea waiting for daylight, which we didn’t. We decided to stay the night in the bay. But in the morning, after a restless and uncomfortable night with the boat constantly rocking and pitching, we’d had enough of wild Cleofas. We quickly got underway.

Once out of that bay things got a lot calmer. There was no wind and once away from the island, no big waves.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Motoring North

We motored northward again, hoping the next place would be better.

Click here to see more images.

Fred & Judy, Isla Cleofas, Mexico